


F is for Fortune

by coolbyrne



Series: The Alphabet Series [6]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26501026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Gibbs is drawn into a different kind of card game. Will he like the hand he's dealt? Pre-Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Series: The Alphabet Series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909126
Comments: 17
Kudos: 74





	F is for Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Another early-in-their-friendship fic that hints at what's to come. The card reading is based on actual Tarot card meanings.

The secondary parking lot had been transformed into a festival for adults and kids alike, and he was pretty sure the last time he'd been to the annual Navy Yard Hallowe'en party, some of those adults _had_ been kids. Booths of games and food lined either side of the massive lot, and people mingled, both in and out of costume. Kids ran around in whatever the latest thing was that kids were into and their adult counterparts did the same with whatever the hell adults were into. He'd shown up 30 minutes late, and he wouldnt've shown up at all if Agent Sloane hadn't laid her hand on his arm on Friday and said, "See you tomorrow," in a mixture of expectation and hope. He half-convinced himself that welcoming the newest agent was just him doing his job as team leader. The other half of himself snorted. 

What was it about the blonde psychologist that had given his brain -and other parts- fits since the day he met her? It took her 11 days to condition him to look to the upper landing every morning at 9:05 AM when she looked down at the team and smiled, a warm beacon to start the day. In 19 days, the barista knew to add another coffee to his morning order. 

_Six sugars!_

His mental beratement was interrupted by a surprised, "You came!" Bishop covered her outburst with a casual shrug. "I mean, you came." Seeing his eyes go down to her feet then back up again, she said, "I'm -"

"The girl in the Star Wars movies," he said. "Yeah, I know. Rey." The surprise returned and now it was his turn to shrug. "Little girl 2 houses down from me told me all about her."

The way he said it made Bishop grin at the image. "You should've come as Han Solo. She would've been impressed." Gibbs grunted and glanced around. "What _are_ you doing here, by the way? I mean," she quickly backtracked, "this is kinda not your thing."

_What was he doin' there?_

"You wouldn't keep quiet about the damn thing since October 1st." His mild accusation did nothing to wipe the grin off her face. Trying to sound as flat as possible, he asked, "Agent Sloane around?"

It wasn't as disinterested as he would've liked, because the grin only grew. "Ah." Swivelling around to look, she said, "No, actually." She frowned. "That's odd; she was almost as excited about this as I was." She bumped her shoulder into his, happy to make fun of herself. "Maybe you should text her to make sure she's okay." He mirrored her earlier frown. "I'm just saying, she said she'd be here and she's not. She's new to DC. Maybe she got lost."

"She works here, Bishop."

"I'm just saying," she repeated. "I'll go get you a drink while you find out where she is."

She was off, and he knew there'd be no stopping her anyway, once she put her mind to something. He could feel the weight of the phone in his pocket and tried to ignore it by looking around again. Narrowing his blue eyes, he scanned the area, trying to look beyond and behind the costumes. But no amount of scrutiny could differentiate between the masked superheroes, the ghouls or the Grim Reaper who was inexplicably surrounded by laughing children. He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity himself. 

Defeated, he reluctantly pulled out his phone, and when his thumb scrolled the arrow down to her name, he paused at the realization that she was already on his speed dial. Pushing the discovery away, he waited for her end to ring five times before getting through to voicemail.

"Just wonderin' where you are." He kept his voice purposely neutral even if there was a tiny kernel of concern in the back of his mind. Such was the nature of his job.

But he didn't need to worry long. His phone buzzed in his hand and he squinted at the screen.

_I'm here! You were late._

He looked around again, but couldn't zero in on her.

_Come find me when Jimmy does the bobbing-for-apples. I'm dying to know if he'll take his glasses off._

He chuckled even if he was frustrated at her suggestion- he'd been trying to find her the whole damn time. He suspected she was watching him, even now, and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him flounder. So with a casualness born out of years of facing suspects, he began walking down one side of the lot, pretending to go for the drinking booth at the end of the row. It was only a half-ruse, since Bishop seemed to have gotten lost along the way. Though most of the booths did little to catch his attention, he did stop at the pumpkin carving table, where a woman was working artistic miracles with a carving knife. A small crowd had gathered around to watch her detail the NCIS logo into the skin. She seemed to be able to sort out the craftsmen from the curious, because she looked up at him and smiled.

"Henry Taylor?" he asked, gesturing to the tool in her hand.

Her eyes lit up, pleased at her own intuition and his knowledge. "Yes."

"Expensive tools to carve up a vegetable."

She laughed. "Technically, pumpkins are a fruit."

He raised an eyebrow as he reached for his wallet. "How much for the fruit?" She tilted her head towards a sign. Squinting at the small numbers, he folded 2 $20 bills and tucked them under her tool case. "Hope that covers it. I'll be back later."

Once he started down the row again, his pocket buzzed.

_So… you like women who work with their hands. I'll write that down later._

His mouth twitched, but he kept walking. A fortune-teller booth was the very last stall and he wondered why he didn't think of it first- as little as he knew about Sloane, he had no doubt this would be right up her alley. He poked his head in, almost certain he had acquired his target, but was disappointed to find there was no one in the small tent except a young woman reading a book. She didn't even bother to glance up.

"You here to get your fortune read?"

"I don't know," he replied. "Am I?"

Her eyes lifted and skimmed over him from head to toe. "Lemme guess? You're dressed as a wiseass." He had just about turned to leave when she said, "Hey. Sit. I'm bored, you're bored, and I've already been paid. You'll be a nice change from the kids who think I'm a genie."

He looked around the modest area. Having never been to a fortune teller, he wasn't sure what he expected, but the warm blues and greens along with what he thought was an obvious absence of incense and candles surprised him. 

"Looking for this?" she asked, placing a crystal ball on the table. "Yeah, that's just for show." She put the prop back under the table and pulled out a deck of cards instead. "Do you mind?"

He took up her offer and shuffled the cards. The deck was only half of what he was accustomed to, but he deftly bridged and cut like a pro. "What do you really do for a living, Amazing April?" His eyes went to the sign in the back that proudly displayed her name.

"I'm studying to be a forensic psychologist. This helps me pay my way through college."

Her honesty was refreshing and he offered one bit of information. "I know one of those. Forensic psychologist."

She took the cards from his hands. "Because you didn't go to college. Went right into the military." His face was impassive. "Not talking, huh? All right. Let's see what the cards say." She laid out 9 cards, face up, in a 3 by 3 pattern, placed the remaining 13 cards off to the side, then peered over the cards. 

"You have a very strong 1st row," she remarked. "The Hierophant, the Emperor and Strength make up your core, who you are as a person. It's all about tradition and morality and bravery with you, isn't it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Your 2nd row is kind of a bummer, though. The Hermit, upside down like this, means loneliness and isolation. And the Hanged Man is upside, too."

"Not good?" he asked dryly.

"No. It means a fear of sacrifice. Not in the literal sense, but in a 'I don't want to get hurt so I don't let anyone in' kinda way. The good news is, Judgement is upright, which signals an awakening. Like you're going to get your head out of your butt and make a big change in your life." She ignored his snort. "Which is probably why your 3rd row is _amazing_." She lifted her voice on the last word and tapped the three cards. "Wheel of Fortune isn't just a game show my grandmother watches. It means change. The Sun means joy and positivity. And I think we all know what the last card means." She wiggled her eyebrows at The Lovers card. "So, in a nutshell, you've gone through some pretty serious shit. Probably things most people wouldn't even understand. And you think you've gotten over it or you've just resigned yourself into believing you can't. Which has led to a pretty lonely life outside of work. But," she tapped the last row again, "you have a chance to change all that. You just need to hook up with whatever woman makes your eyes go all dreamy blue." She waved her index finger at his stoney expression. "Too late, I saw them when you said 'forensic psychologist'."

When nothing more was forthcoming and he held her gaze for as long as he thought was required to let her know exactly what he thought of her summary, he said, "So that's it?"

She sat back and shrugged. "I could try the crystal ball, but I find that's really only for seeing the winning lottery numbers."

He chuckled as he stood and placed a 20 on her table. "Might wanna buy some Windex."

"Wait," she said. "I'm getting a feeling." She held up a finger to cut off the retort that was on his lips. "The cards want me to tell you one more thing." She picked up the deck and flipped over a card.

It was The Fool, and he gave her credit for hiding her smirk as well as she did when she said, "Oops. That was from the bottom of the deck. I was supposed to take it from the top." She saw the card before he did and quickly said, "Don't get your boxers in a knot- everyone thinks it's a bad card when it's not." He had guessed what it was before she had revealed it completely.

The Death card.

"All it means, right side up like this, is change. It marks the end of a cycle and new beginnings. It means it's a good thing."

He came around to the side of the table so he could look at the card properly. His laugh was warm and low when his brain caught up to his eyes. Dropping another 20 on the table, he said, "It means somethin', that's for sure."

…..

"If Death comes for us all, why'd I hafta spend half the day lookin' for ya, Agent Sloane?" He stood beside the Grim Reaper and whispered the words alongside her. The mask muffled her laughter but did little to diffuse the effect it had on him. _Maybe that was it_ , he thought. _Maybe I've been missing laughter._

He rolled his eyes at himself and made a mental note to cut back on the therapy sessions with Grace, even as he felt himself grinning like a lovesick teenager.

"I suspect only _you_ could get the jump on the Grim Reaper, Special Agent Gibbs."

He tilted his head back and forth, contemplating the compliment. He agreed with a light hum, but said, "The kids were a good distraction."

She pulled back the hood and lifted the mask, dabbing at the sweat along her brow. Wordlessly, he held out a handkerchief which she took with a thankful nod. "A good sniper uses the environment around him." Catching his surprised chuckle, she said, "Yeah, I read your file, Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs." His nose wrinkled at the full name and she laughed again. 

"Is that why you're wearin' the mask?" he asked. "Just another way to profile people without gettin' caught?"

He couldn't help the light accusation that threaded its way through his question. Despite knowing in his gut from the first day they met that he could trust her, he still couldn't quite get around his distrust of the profession. Anyone who was good enough to get inside a suspect's head was good enough to get into his, and he didn't like knowing there was a weak spot in his defense. But she had likely heard the same kind of accusation from others, because she took it in stride.

"When I'm not getting paid? I don't think so."

Her flat honesty made him laugh out loud, but he had to ask, "So why the get-up?"

She made a face. "I left it to the last minute and this was the only thing the store had. Well, this and a French maid outfit." 

His brain said he wasn't into role play but everything south seemed to disagree. Her honeyed tone didn't help -or did it?- and her sly grin told him she damn well knew it, too. He tried to downplay it by saying, "Ya gonna write that down later, too?"

"Oh, I'm writing _that_ one down right now!" She tapped her forehead and winked. A small child no older than 5 stumble-ran towards her and she caught him around her leg. "Hey, there."

"Hi." He looked up at her face and frowned, confused by her image. "You're pretty."

"Careful," Gibbs warned quietly. "Been there too many times."

Jack elbowed him in the ribs while still giving her full attention to the boy. "Would you like some candy?" He caught the second elbow meant to deter another smartass comment.

The boy, oblivious to the adults' exchange, grinned and nodded. "Yes." His eyes quickly looked at Gibbs. "Yes, please."

"Good man."

When she handed the boy a full chocolate bar from a hidden pocket, Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Got any whiskey in there?"

She watched the boy take the candy and toddle back to his parents who only shook their heads, bemused at his joy. "No, but I _may_ have a bottle in my office." Turning her attention to him, she looked straight into tired eyes. "You don't really do these things, do you?"

"What gives you that idea?" His dryness was intentional, not acerbic. 

"So why are you here?"

He grinned at the question he'd been asking himself all afternoon. "I dunno, Sloane. Guess it was in the cards." With his hand still around her elbow, he gave it a gentle tug. "C'mon, let's grab that drink."

…..

-end.


End file.
